ache.
Cooper was seventeen. Old enough to know better, young enough to still be trapped under his parents’ roof.
“What do I do?” Caleb asked.
“What do you want to do?”
He thought about it.
“I want to text him.”
“Then text him.”
He did.
I didn’t ask what he wrote.
Some relationships, I realized, might survive outside the old family structure. Not because I forced continue reading …
